


Heart Lines

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Fluff, Fortune Telling, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Touching, Tumblr Prompt, kylux soft kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: A fill for thisKylux softkinks prompt:Kylo Ren is a fortune teller/psychic.  Hux doesn't hold to such nonsense, thinking it's all a joke, but despite this he goes every week because he loves the way Kylo holds/touches his hands for the readings.Kylo knows why Hux keeps coming back.[excerpt]:“Come in for a reading,” the man says as Hux snatches his hand away.“Sorry.  I don’t believe in that psychic mumbo-jumbo.  No offense,” Hux adds hastily, although he’s pretty sure there’s no way it can be construed as anything but.“I’ll do it for free.”  The man sticks out his hand.  “Kylo Ren—chirologist; crystal gazer; tarot reader; clairvoyant.  In another lifetime, I would have been celebrated for my spiritual gifts as a diviner, but nowadays...” His voice trails as he shrugs.  “People dismiss me as a crook, an amusement, or a quack.”  His brown eyes darken.  “It still doesn’t mean that I don’t see the truth.”





	Heart Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PangolinPirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PangolinPirate/gifts).



> Dear PangolinPirate,
> 
> Your generosity and gorgeous artwork has been such a gift to the fandom. I adored the sentiment behind your prompt so much and had to write it. I hope I was able to capture some of what you were looking for! <33

_It starts out the same.  A soft touch, from hands so large you would expect them to be rough and calloused but which are surprisingly gentle and smooth.  They’re broad and the color of moonlight, which seems appropriate given that their owner often deals in the realms of the supraconscious and fate._

_Thick fingers trace the lines of Hux’s quivering palm.  It’s becoming too much, their meetings, their third in as many weeks.  The logic in Hux’s brain screams against the very premise—if not because of the immeasurable, unquantifiable and unprovable question of whether abilities such as psychic powers even exist, then because of the alternative if they_ don’t _._

_He swallows and pulls away, pointing to the wooden box which holds a deck of cards.  The edges of the tarrochi are worn, their paper yellowed.  The designs are intricate and faded, with an uneven appearance unlike the glossy, mass-produced imitations accessible to anyone with a modicum of interest and a pittance of cash._

_The energy in the room builds as the man shuffles the cards.  Their fragile shapes flutter in his capable hands as he seems to bend and float them to his will, before displaying them on the table in a simple three-card spread._

_Hux holds his breath.  He leans forward into the silence, his green eyes focused on those steady hands as the man reveals the ancient drawings and begins to read._

 

**.~O~.**

In a city filled with concrete and glass and sharp-edged lines that pierce the sky, Hux has no idea why someone like Kylo should even _exist_ , never mind how he’s able to survive making a living doing _—_ well, whatever it is he does.  Hux must have passed those seven narrow steps at least a dozen times, completely ignorant of their chipped and roughly pebbled existence or the fact that they actually _led_ somewhere.  And even if he had, he never would have guessed that they would lead to somewhere quite like this.

God knows the man doesn’t look the part.  Hux had run into him after another one of his admittedly all-too-frequent one night stands _—_ the kind where you wake up just as the sun begins to cast a film of pink over the filter of grey, the tinge seeping between the buildings like a brush loaded and dipped into the edges of a watercolor wash.  Hux’s heart sinks at the realization that the window for a graceful exit has closed.  It’s the stuttered excuses _—_ the accusatory, knowing look that Hux inevitably receives when he mutters _“I’ll text you”—_ that he hates.  It makes him feel ashamed _—_ deficient, to be honest _—_ at his inability to forge any lasting relationship, platonic or otherwise.  It’s a flaw which he readily attributes to a cold and distant father and an emotionally bereft childhood, and the need to protect himself from a world of hurt ever since.

It is for this reason _—_ and not because of the fact that he’s doing the walk of shame with his shirt half-out and hurriedly buttoned _—_ that he doesn’t pay full attention to where he is heading.  The streets are fairly deserted at this hour as it is, and Hux manages to avoid the stray jogger and half-sleeping dog walker before colliding with what appears to be a solid wall of muscle that also relieves him of his breath.

The noise is deafening as a metal A-frame sign clatters against the ground.  Its echo seems to bounce endlessly off the row of buildings bordering the mostly empty street.

“I’m sorry,” Hux begins, his pale skin flushing tellingly.  He bends down to pick it up the advertisement.  There’s a cartoon hand with its palm up, surrounded by block letters that screech _“SPECIAL_ ” and _“Walk-Ins Welcome,”_ all for the bargain price of ten bucks.  A large hand covers his own in the commotion, and Hux would have dropped the sign all over again at the sight of its owner, if not for the man’s strong grip.

The man was _—large_ .  It wasn’t just his height, although six foot three is plenty tall.  It wasn’t even the broadness of the man’s body (sculpted and deliciously muscled, if Hux’s brief run-in seconds ago was any indication).  There was something else about him _—_ an intensity and an acuity, as if he could see Hux, see _through_ him _—_ that makes Hux shiver despite the eye-squinting brightness of the morning sun.

The stranger transfers the sign into his left hand and stands it on the ground while he casually flips Hux’s hand over with his right.  He stares at the exposed palm for a second, his forefingers tracing the creases which decorate the flesh in a way that is a bit too familiar for Hux’s liking.

“Come in for a reading,” the man says as Hux snatches his hand away.

“Sorry.  I don’t believe in that psychic mumbo-jumbo.  No offense,” Hux adds hastily, although he’s pretty sure there’s no way it can be construed as anything but.

“I’ll do it for free.”  The man sticks out his hand.  “Kylo Ren _—_ chirologist; crystal gazer; tarot reader; clairvoyant.  In another lifetime, I would have been celebrated for my spiritual gifts as a diviner, but nowadays...” His voice trails as he shrugs.  “People dismiss me as a crook, an amusement, or a quack.”  His brown eyes darken.  “It still doesn’t mean that I don’t see the truth.”

Hux stares.  Kylo has long, soft ebony locks that are pulled through a cheap elastic band to form a haphazard bun.  His tank top shows off his rippling biceps and a tattoo sleeve, its black ink filled with images of the stars and skies, and mystical figures cloaked in flowing capes while wielding swords.  Captive bed rings decorate his Rook and Daith piercings, and despite the early hour, he’s dressed in all-black.  He looks displaced _—_ a relic of the 90’s, a Lower East Side punk who was transported by some cosmic joke from a distant and gritty world to one which glamorizes clean-edged sterility.

Hux’s green eyes narrow as his lips settle into a smirk.  “A modern day Nostradamus, are we?  No thanks.”  He turns to go, but Kylo’s arm whips out with a speed which belies his large frame.  Hux is again conscious of the weight of his hand _—_ of its incredible size, and the thrum of something titillating that seeps through the thin layer of his shirt.

“Five minutes,” Kylo says quietly.  The air hangs thick between them, and Hux finds it suddenly hard to breathe.  Kylo’s eyes rake over Hux’s bedraggled form.  “It’s still early enough that five minutes of your time won’t make a big difference.  You’ll still make it home with your reputation intact.”

Hux stutters, a litany of retorts choking his throat.  He could tell Kylo that the streets are already busier by the second, or that he’s already been caught, or that it’s none of Kylo’s damn business what Hux has been doing or where he was coming from, or that it was incredibly rude to presume anything (albeit correctly) of the sort.  He also wants to wipe that smug, knowing look off of Kylo’s face, and it is primarily for this reason that Hux finally relents.

“Five minutes,” Hux concedes as Kylo grins.  “But only because I’m wasting even more of my time arguing with you.”  He follows Kylo down the stairs and into a room which, although small, is surprisingly homey.  The walls are painted a soothing grey, and the furniture is masculine and modern without the cookie-cutter appearance of something from IKEA.  Hux sniffs; he sees none of the heavy tapestries or velvet hangings or antiquated opulence that he associates with fortune tellers.

“Aren’t you supposed be dressed in a turban and cloak?” he asks as Kylo waves him towards a chair.

That earns Hux a small smile.  “Would you like me to read your past or your future?”  Kylo settles into the seat across from Hux and leans forward. His elbows rest on the table between them while his large body eats up the space.

Hux frowns.  “Can’t you do both?”

“I could.  If I read both hands, but that would take longer than five minutes.”

“Past, then.”  The certainty of Hux’s past may be easier to deal with than the uncertainty of his future.  At any rate, he’s determined to prove that palm reading and its ilk is a crock of shit.  “And now you’re down to four.”

Kylo adopts a patient expression as he takes Hux’s right hand into his own. He stares thoughtfully at the grooves which criss-cross in a seemingly random pattern over flesh and bone. Hux is surprised at the gentleness of Kylo’s touch. In his experience, hands are made for clenching or gripping, or commanding or wielding.  Not for... _this_.

“Your heart line,” Kylo remarks, pointing to a line that runs horizontally across nearly half of Hux’s hand. “You’re selfish, when it comes to love,” Kylo murmurs.  Hux starts, affronted, and nearly withdraws his hand.  “You’re not interested in anything serious, having experienced heartbreak in your past.”

Hux flushes.  “Wow.  Right down to it.  No wining and dining with you, is there?”  He’s sure that Kylo can feel the clamminess that’s creeping into his palms.

“You’re practical.  A thinker,” Kylo continues as his finger points to another line that runs nearly parallel to the first.  “A pragmatist who at times is required to make momentous decisions.  Logic, rather than emotion, is your guide.”

Kylo looks down, biting his lower lip in concentration as he studies the other lines.  His long lashes flutter, nearly brushing the curve of his cheek.  His lips are wet and seductive, and the baritone of his voice takes on a hypnotic quality within the confines of the small space.  Hux inhales as Kylo turns and repositions Hux’s palm.  There’s a spark of warmth as well as something unsettling about Kylo’s touch...

“You’re not easily manipulated, but you’re overly cautious in your relations with others. This extends beyond just romantic love,” Kylo amends.  He pauses slightly, and Hux almost hears Kylo’s disapproval in the intervening silence.  “Yet your vitality is strong.”

“I run five miles a day and have 8% body fat,” Hux scoffs.  He feels less shaken, now that he’s back on familiar ground.  Anyone who saw the shape of his wiry body and relative youth could have made such a pronouncement.  It makes Kylo’s other comments seem less telling, somehow.

Kylo hums. “Vitality is not the same thing as life expectancy.  Think of it as the energy you have to live your life.”  He looks up; he’s still holding Hux, and it burns.  “It’s a shame _—_ to be born with such a long, deep line when you’re too frightened to make the most of it.”

Hux stands, the metal legs of the chair screeching as he pushes back quickly.  “I think your five minutes are up,” he huffs.  He retracts his hand angrily and nearly shivers from the startling emptiness at the loss of Kylo’s touch.

“I haven’t read your fate line yet _—_ ” Kylo protests, but by that point, Hux was already out.

 

****.~O~.** **

A week later, Hux finds himself heading east instead of west, and uptown instead of down.  It’s a quieter, more residential street _—_ not the type lined with multi-million dollar brownstones or expansive, modern megaliths, but the type dotted with trees and tiny pre-war walk ups with uneven handrails layered with years of paint that cling along their narrowed steps.  It’s the kind of neighborhood where someone like Kylo could set up shop, his soothsaying quirkiness tolerated as part of the area’s hipster charm.

It’s a far cry from the bars and clubs where Hux normally spends his Friday nights _—_ those alcohol-fueled excursions which slide into an early Saturday morning spent in a stranger’s bed or against the battered walls of a cramped restroom stall.  A part of him hopes that it’s a futile effort _—_ 10:30 at night seems to be a bit late for Kylo to be working, even in a city that never sleeps.  But not only is Kylo there, he’s outside his steps, folding up his A-frame so it lays flat under his arm and watching Hux approach as if he’s expected him all along.

Hux huffs out a laugh.

“Hello,” Kylo says, his thick lips spreading out into a wide grin. “Just in the neighborhood?”

The lack of restaurants and retail shops makes it impossible for Hux to lie.  “You were fairly impressive that first round,”  he admits as he reaches around to pull out his wallet.  “But characterization can be a skill that anyone with a talent for observation and an understanding of human behavior can do with fair accuracy.  I want to see how you are at predicting the future.”  He thrusts a bill in front of Kylo’s face.

Kylo stares at the crisp twenty with a frown.  “I’m not a charlatan,” he says.  He dismisses Hux’s money with a wave and picks up the sign effortlessly as he heads down the steps.

Hux is both relieved and dismayed at Kylo’s refusal.  He sighs as he tucks the bill back in his wallet and makes a move to turn.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

Hux stares, completely confused.  “I _—_ I thought…”

“I’m not going to accept your money if you don’t believe in my truth.  I won’t fuel your distrust.”  He held the door open.  “Come on. It’s on the house.”

Hux followed Kylo in.  The walls look different in the light of night _—_ they’re shaded in a deeper, more nebulous hue, and there’s an unquestionable intimacy as Kylo shuts out the halogen streetlights with a pull of the gauzy curtains and opts for something softer and more luminescent instead.  It smacks of something intensely personal, which only increases once Kylo takes hold of Hux’s hand.

“You know, most of the times when I invite a man to my place after hours, I at least know their name,” Kylo teases.

Hux bites his lip, wondering how often Kylo keeps company with such men.  “You mean you can’t read a bunch of tea leaves and find out?”  He’s not flirting.  Really, he’s not.

“I read palms, not personal files. I’m not the police.”

Hux makes a quick decision. “It’s Hux,” he says, the truth leaving him in a _whoosh._

“Okay, Hux.” They take their places on opposite sides of the table.  Kylo’s fingers traverse the length of Hux’s palm.  “This is your fate line.”  Kylo’s touch once again stirs something in Hux; his breath quickens, his nerve endings tingle, and the path that Kylo traces feels akin to the residue of a slow burn.  “It shows that you're ambitious and driven.  That you are, in essence, a self-made man.”  

A good con could have taken in Hux’s Audemars and sharply tailored clothes and come to the same conclusion.  Yet Hux watches, fascinated despite himself.  Kylo’s voice is low and seductive, and although he speaks in generalizations, there’s a part of Hux’s brain that’s starting to _believe._

Kylo turns Hux’s hand towards him, assessing the pale and delicate lengths of his fingers and the size and shape of his palm.  “You have the characteristics of air and water,” Kylo murmurs. He caresses their lengths gently before moving onto an area that’s calloused and dry.  “Sharp and witty, although you can also be spiteful and cold.”  His fingers curl and interlace with Hux’s.  It’s a sensation that’s strong and secure, and oddly familiar.

Hux longs to flex his fingers in return.

“You're mentally sharp; brilliant, in fact.  A problem solver, who enjoys challenges and the ability to think outside the box.”  There's a faint apology in Kylo's eyes for what comes next.  “You’re also intuitive, although that can lead to _—_ well, moodiness.  And it wars at times with your intellect.  So you tend to shy away from sentiment.”

Hux waits for the sharp denial, that hot flash of anger he experiences whenever he’s threatened, requiring him to push down the swell of his emotions in order to get them under control.  Instead, he feels something easing the sting of self-awareness.  It seems to arise from Kylo’s touch, from where he’s massaging Hux’s fingers, and fills Hux with a comfort that causes him to lose his sharp edge and razor-thin focus and fall into something more fluid and uncertain.

Still, he can’t let Kylo get away with basically what amounts to telling him that he has a stick up his ass.  “I didn’t become one of the youngest Managing Directors in our company’s history by sitting on my butt and singing _Kumbaya._ ”

Kylo smiles.  The pad of his thumb swipes over the rounded mounts of flesh at the base of Hux’s fingers as he looks up with the hint of a smirk.  “Jupiter and the Sun are strong within you.  You have a temper, matched by your pride.”  Kylo’s voice floats between them as his fingers move onto the fleshy pad of Hux’s thumb.  “Yet Venus is weak. You don’t hold much stock in family.  You enjoy your frequent dalliances.  Although your promiscuous behavior has less to do with instant gratification and more with a life of distrust.”  Kylo’s eyes manages to be soft yet piercing as he looks right through Hux.

“I _—_ I’m a busy man,” Hux manages, his typical eloquence disappearing as he looks down.  He fights the urge to remove his hand and place it in the safety of his lap.  “I have neither the desire nor time to invest in a long term relationship.”  His mouth thins when he realizes he’s divulged a bit too much.  “I can’t be bothered with something so _..._ involved.”

Kylo arches a brow knowingly.  “Can’t, or won’t?”

Hux narrows his eyes.  “You’re good at reading personalities,” he counters. “But I asked you to read my future.  And I haven’t seen anything suggestive of that yet.”

“Fate and the future are funny things,” Kylo says enigmatically. “What I foresee is your potential.  There are certain things that we are born with, and others that are accessible to change.  We have the capability within ourselves to mold our futures with the groundwork with which we’ve been given. But the longer things are set _—_ the longer we continue our current patterns _—_ the harder they are to change.”

Kylo’s massive hands soothe circles over Hux’s skin as his mercurial eyes glint with challenge.  Blood rushes from where he’s holding Hux, its warmth spreading out into Hux’s fingers and throughout his entire body and leaving him slightly dazed.  It isn’t as if Hux isn’t familiar with the pleasure of another man’s hands _._ Sex is often fast and furious, driven by his need to take.  It’s the grip of the hips, the smack on the ass, the fisting of the cock, the pull of the hair, and the filling of the mouth _._ But the tenderness with which Kylo holds him while he bares Hux’s soul before both their eyes feels exquisitely intimate and therefore more vulnerable than most.

Hux nearly lets out a whimper.  With no small amount of mortification, he also realizes that he’s half-hard.

“We have the potential to change,” Kylo repeats softly, as if daring Hux to bolt.

 _I can’t,_ Hux thinks as he does precisely that.

 

****.~O~.** **

This time, there are no excuses.

There was no sign cluttering the sidewalk inviting the lovelorn and the lost. The curtains were drawn, but Hux knew Kylo would be in.

“My future,” Hux says hoarsely and without preamble as soon as Kylo opens the door.  He despises the desperation that colors his voice.  “Tell me.” Hux’s fingers tremble as he presses several bills into Kylo’s hand.  “I need to know.”

Kylo takes one look at Hux and lets him in.  He accepts Hux’s money wordlessly and places it underneath a well-worn box.  Aside from its obvious age it’s fairly nondescript, although its placement alongside several photographs makes Hux suspect that it contains something more valuable than just spare change.

Hux squints at the pictures.  A chubby boy with long dark hair that looks a lot like Kylo before a fortuitous growth spurt and gym membership laughs exuberantly from the frame.  He’s surrounded by adults, most of whom seem to have a penchant for flowing robes, belted tunics and long braids.  It’s easy to discount them as throwbacks to some hippie counterculture, but Kylo’s happiness in the images is infectious, and Hux finds himself inexplicably drawn.

Kylo notes the curiosity in Hux’s gaze.  “Tarot cards,” Kylo informs him.  He takes hold of Hux’s hand and ushers him to his seat.

Hux points to the cards.  “Can you read me with those instead?”

“Yes.”  Kylo hesitates. “Tarot cards are another means of seeing the future,” he adds cautiously, as if calming a skittish colt. “But it’s every bit as intimate as reading one’s palm.  Plus, it requires some participation on your part.”

“I’m ready,” Hux tells him with his best steely gaze.

Kylo nods his assent and picks up the deck as they sit.  “Think of a question,” he instructs.  The energy in the room builds as he shuffles the cards, their fragile shapes fluttering in his capable hands as he seems to bend and float them to his will, until he displays them on the table in a simple three-card spread.

_Am I capable of love? Of being loved?_

Hux lets out a long exhale.  He leans forward into the silence, his green eyes focused on Kylo’s steady hands as Kylo reveals the ancient drawings and begins to read.

“The cards I’ve set before you represent your past, present, and future,” Kylo explains. He turns over the first, revealing a picture of a lion resting at a maiden’s feet. “ _Strength_ ,” Kylo proclaims.  “Your past has been about your ability to transcend your emotions.  To persevere over your unwanted impulses and desires.”  He points to the maiden.  “You have taught yourself patience and control, and the ability to manage your inner beast.”

There is a charge in the air as Kylo turns over the second card. “ _The Emperor_. He embodies sharpness of mind, and the power of the pen and tongue.  You’re a leader. You seek order from chaos, and do all you can to protect the status quo.”

There is a buzzing in Hux's head as Kylo reaches for the last card.  The faded images seem to swim as he sees two thirds of his life laid out in front of him.  Of his past _—_ of a childhood heavy on discipline and an inordinate emphasis on achievement at the expense of love.  Of his present _—_ of days spent climbing the corporate ladder, trading wealth as easily as he does personal entanglements and emotional complications for a series of one-nighters.  He’s ruthless in the boardroom and dispassionate in the bedroom, and lives his life fucking people in both settings without much damage to his conscience when he leaves them high and dry.  It’s uncomplicated, the way he lives his life with the razor-sharp cleanliness of a surgical knife _—_ and until he met this strange man with his soft, soft hands, it had always been enough.

Fear of the unknown overtakes Hux _—_ of the possibility that he's destined to live his life emotionally unavailable and unable to know another man’s loving touch.  He lunges in an attempt to halt the revelation, but ends up dislodging the card from Kylo’s hand.

Hux's eyes widen as it tumbles through the air, the image spinning in sync with the flipping in his stomach and the pounding of his heart.  He and Kylo reach for it as it makes its descent; when it finally comes to a rest, it does so in their conjoined grasp.

“ _The Lovers_ ,” Kylo whispers. Hux stares at the picture; the couple’s hands gently touch as their faces tilt towards the sun.  Kylo watches as Hux’s fingers trace tentatively over their figures, before inching forward to cover Kylo’s hand.

Hux breathes.  He’s touching and _feeling—_ sensing the ridges which protrude from Kylo’s knuckles, and the dips and grooves that landscape the back of his hand.

He’s touching and _learning—_ delighting at how Kylo’s collarbone speeds in its rise and fall when Hux fingers its length as his palm rests steady on Kylo’s chest.

He’s touching and _giving—_ giving into the solidity and comfort of Kylo’s thickness as Kylo pulls Hux close, those large and generous hands spanning the dip in Hux’s waist, their hips slotting together with the crisp press of linen against denim, and the hardened line of something else underneath.

Hux’s green eyes flutter shut.  He can still feel the heat of Kylo’s breath, and the wetness of that sinful mouth as Kylo leans in for a kiss.

He's touching and _living._   The tightly wound strings of the past, present and future unravel into something uncertain but glorious as Hux submits fully to Kylo’s touch.

And when Hux’s lips part and he tastes Kylo's promise, Hux's walls crumble. His heart bursts in a fit of joy, because he realizes that he _can_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So guess what? This prompt was so awesome that there was not just _one_ , but _two!_ fills for it!!
> 
> It turns out that the lovely [**Letummorde**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Letummordre/pseuds/Letummordre) also wrote a wonderful version for this premise. And the fantastic thing is that it's such a different take from mine, and more from Kylo's POV, and I think it's pretty amazing that we both ended up with something so different from the same starting point. And that's what so fantastic about fandom and fanfics, isn't it?!!
> 
> So please, check out her wonderful work [**here!**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10706034)
> 
> *Come say "hi" on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nerdherderette)


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